


Last Resort

by Quercusrobur



Series: Stripes and Stars and Jack [3]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s12e02 Spyfall Part 2, F/M, Sort Of, Spoilers for Episode: s12e01-02 Spyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quercusrobur/pseuds/Quercusrobur
Summary: What do you do when you discover a liar was telling the truth, and you've been orphaned again, and you've just put your best and oldest and now, again, your only, frenemy entirely beyond your reach? You run away, of course. Or: Jack is a sucker, and some days he knows it.Part of a series, but they're loosely connected. Chapter 2 is a bit of Doctor POV.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Jack Harkness
Series: Stripes and Stars and Jack [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583767
Comments: 14
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

The TARDIS is parked outside his office when Jack arrives in the morning, subtle as a hole in the head although no one else seems to notice it. She hums quietly, maybe mournfully; Jack pats her door and does not enter. His office, after all, is a much smaller space. Might as well check it first.

“ _There_ you are,” Ambris exclaims in obvious relief as soon as Jack steps inside. The fur around their neck is ruffled in mild agitation, yellow and cream bordering round face, wide eyes. "There's someone in your office. They wouldn't go away, and they do smell familiar, but -"

"It's alright," Jack assures them. "Same friend who was here at Yearnight. Anything I can't put off today?"

Tapping at their screen, Ambris says doubtfully, "I suppose not, though your two o’clock won't be happy to get me instead of you."

Jack leans over to look and winces. "That's because she only comes to stare at my arse." Running fingers gently through Ambris's fur to coax it smooth, Jack glances toward his office door, from which he can hear only a worrying silence. "Well, some things are more important than regular business. If she could be a little more friendly about it she wouldn't have to buy her way into the show." Ambris tries, very unsuccessfully, to smother a laugh; Jack grins. “Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking it. Alright. Take care of it, please? Thank you, Ambris.”

The Doctor is leaning over his desk, head bowed, sonic screwdriver dangling from limp hand, looking pale and unimposing without her coat. Her clothes are darker than he last saw them, just months ago for him; her hair is messy and disarranged as if she has been running her hands through it far too much. When she notices Jack watching her she jolts slightly, nearly drops the sonic. Then she inhales, lifts her head, twists her face into a cheerful grimace.

“I hope you didn’t pay much for this system, Captain, I haven’t seen something so shoddy since -” but she doesn’t even make it through a sentence before the facade cracks. Scrubbing at her face angrily, she turns away.

Jack kicks his door closed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” the Doctor says as she wraps her arms tight around herself. Jack waits, but she doesn’t give him anything else. Where are her friends, where is her coat, when is this, what _happened_ -?

“Are you alone?” Jack settles on, but the Doctor makes a little noise like he stabbed her and sways on her feet. She breathes in sharply, and out, and in again, and then just as Jack gives up waiting and reaches for her a choked noise that sounds very much like _yes_ escapes and Jack catches her as her knees buckle. “Hey, hey, come here,” he soothes, supporting her to the comfortable chair in the back corner. Dropping into it, he pulls the Doctor into his arms, tucks her head against his shoulder, and holds on tight. He doesn’t try to convince her she isn’t alone; that’s another one of those things it never does any good to argue about.

Sometimes, Jack knows what’s wrong. Sometimes, things are a little out of order in a way that means he understands _why_ the Doctor has appeared on his doorstep again, or in his kitchen, or in his bed, or once, memorably, curled up in his bath, dressed to the nines aside from the fire damage and sound asleep. Today is not one of those times. Whatever has just happened for her, Jack can’t yet place this visit among events he knows.

He doesn't ask. He decided long, long ago that it's enough that she comes to him.

When he is honest with himself, he knows it's mostly that lack of questions that keeps her coming back. It’s a role that relegates him to the periphery of her life, a final safety net, a last resort at times like these, but he can’t bear to think of her left _without_ that refuge - and no other role is open to him, not anymore. Spend too long together and the darkness in both of their lives, in both of _them_ , grows too strong to contain, too easily excused by another long-lived traveler who has seen far too many hard choices. _Maybe it wasn’t right_ , they tell each other, _but you did the best you could_. And eventually, things that should never be easy become routine. Acceptance is a last resort, for those who will always have another chance to become monsters.

So Jack holds the Doctor close, lets her hide in his arms, tucked away in the dim back corner of a quiet life he maintains meticulously and will defend from all comers. After a little while the silence gains a presence of its own, so he calls up the live feed from the immense seven-octave wind harp at the top of the cliff and lets the random pentatonic chords tumble through the room without rhythm or structure or sense. Ambris comes and goes in the lobby, more than competent to take on all the paragliding lessons although they prefer to leave soothing ruffled feathers to Jack; and there are a few of those, today. Jack will make it up to them later.

“Lucky it’s a slow day,” Jack murmurs, head tilted to rest against the Doctor’s, lying still against his shoulder. She hasn’t spoken since that first attempt, barely moved; she doesn’t now. “You’ve met Ambris now, though I suppose you’re in no state to appreciate it. They’re worth meeting properly. You were here just a few months ago, you know? For the Yearnight party.” It has been much more than a few months for her, Jack suspects. The Doctor doesn’t respond save to press her face slightly harder into his chest, and Jack falls silent again.

He hates the silent days. If they talk, if they fuck, if they fight, at least Jack knows it’s him she’s seeing. Days like this, he strongly suspects that what she wants from him is simply _existence_.

It is arguably his least favourite skill.

When she still hasn't spoken by the time Ambris looks in to say they are leaving, Jack tries to coax her to stand up, to walk, so they can go to his flat or her TARDIS or anywhere she likes, anywhere that isn’t this chair that used to be comfortable but really isn’t after sitting in it unmoving for an entire day with a very dense someone in his lap. “You could lie down,” Jack points out, unsuccessfully. “We could get food? I’ll make tea. Or that fizzy lemonade you liked. Please, Doctor, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do but this would be so much more comfortable somewhere _meant_ for cuddling.”

The word _cuddling_ finally gets her moving, with an insulted sort of grumble, and Jack breathes a sigh of relief; but when she yanks open the door and the warm orange light of sunset hits her face the Doctor stumbles backward, shaking her head in panicked denial.

“No, no, no, no, no -”

Back she steps, and back, and back, eyes never leaving the front window until Jack slams the door closed, swings her around and enfolds her again in his arms. “Shh, shh, it’s alright now. Nothing here, just me.” She clings to him, head still twitching side to side; Jack wonders what she is seeing. Sometimes he never finds out.

The Doctor lets go eventually, and Jack doesn’t try to hold on. Face turned away, she cracks the door cautiously, then pulls it open when she finds nothing but shadows awaiting. She takes a slow breath.

"I'll fix it," she says, still not looking at him. "Don't worry. I'm the Doctor. I'll fix it."

"You can't fix everything, Doctor."

Finally she does turn, like a broken gate, like her joints have been rusted stuck; turns anguished, resolute eyes up to his face. "I know," the Doctor whispers. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"That's not what I meant," Jack says; but he looks away from the guilt he hates to see is still there, and when he turns back she is gone. He chose this, he reminds himself, hands clenched so tightly they ache, he _chooses_ this. He may be the universe’s biggest sucker, but… it’s his choice. After all, when one is staring down infinity, _someday_ is infinitely better than _never_. Someday, she’ll need _him_ again. Someday, again, nothing else will do.

+-+


	2. Chapter 2

She doesn’t ask the TARDIS to take her to Jack.

She doesn’t have to. After so long together they reflect each other’s moods and desires in ways subtle and circuitous and strange. They argue in sparse words and silences, make up in shared moments and gentle touches. They trust. The TARDIS takes the Doctor where she needs to be; the Doctor steals the both of them back from whatever tries to separate them.

Even when it means stealing other things first. Even when it means leaving things behind.

She left Jack behind, and Jack forgave her. The Master never does so easily.

She doesn’t want to think about the Master. She can’t forget the betrayal, the horrible, baffling devastation in his voice, in his face, when he -

_She isn’t the one who needs forgiveness -!_

She doesn’t want to think about that, either.

She wants to bury the pain and the questions and the future in Jack’s eternal _now_ , sink into the stillness of his fixed point until she is entirely time-blinded, just for a little while. Just until she can think of what to do. Just until she can think of something beyond the unceasing mantra echoing at the bottom of her mind, _not again not again not again notagainnotagainagainagainagain -_

 _Are you alone,_ he says, and it feels like cracking open her ribcage to answer. He doesn’t press her further - he never does, not right away - and the Doctor is relieved. Nothing she wants to say needs saying, between them. She holds on tight, and lets Jack take the weight.

 _Would you kneel, to save lives?_ Of course he would.

 _Would you kneel to me?_ She can just see his face, the playful grin, the breathtaking sincerity beneath. If she weren’t sitting on him he would slide to his knees right there, bare his throat, _submit_ to her without reservation. He would give her anything, and that is not what she needs right now. His trust is deep and hard-earned, but she could break it. She could.

 _Would you kneel to the Master?_ He would; he has. To save lives, and because she asked it of him. Pride is a brittle support, and Jack is made of stronger stuff. But she doesn’t want to talk about the Master with Jack. Whatever else she might say about what she did, it had not been kind - and she is afraid Jack won’t mind that at all.

 _Was I right, to take those girls’ memories?_ She thinks, from Jack, the answer would be, _No, but -_ Because he has been on both ends of that transaction, many times. It’s all gone grey.

She hadn’t been thinking of morality at the time. She had been in that bright, swift place where answers come fast and actions come faster, tick-tick-tick to a solution crystalising as fast as thoughts can move - which is very, very fast, for the Doctor, but somehow never quite fast enough to prevent the need in the first place. This life has been plagued with that mindset taking over, and none of her companions have been brave enough to stand up and stop her; she is out of practice at listening. She thinks the memory wipes had been part of the _clean up history_ step, whisk a broom over her traces and be gone quick as she came, on to the next. There were lives to save.

 _No, but -_ is not the answer she needs right now, so she doesn’t ask.

She needs to be more careful.

And just as she is beginning to believe moving forward is possible, is necessary, the shock of orange light and she is right back there, staring in disbelief, in horror, part of her reaching out desperately for a mind so briefly regained, now beyond her reach until one of them breaks through the dimensional walls - for any mind, anyone at all. _Not again, not again, not again, not again -_ until finally it shifts, such a slight change, and she finds herself thinking -

_No more._

+-+


End file.
